I'm A Withdrawal
by ShakespearesAlexa
Summary: Sherlock and John arrive home to a stranger on their doorstep during the midst of The Reichenbach Fall. How will this stranger change their lives? This story will have mentions of delicate topics and some eventual Johnlock fluff. Warnings for any delicate material will appear in the AN the chapter before they appear. Please enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

"Hurry up and get out of the cab, Sherlock! It's freezing and you're just sitti—"

"John, there appears to be someone on our doorstep." John peeked his head around Sherlock's shoulder since the younger man had not, as of yet, removed himself from the cab.

A dark, dirty figure curled against the door of 221, huddled in on itself against the bitter wind that whipped through Baker Street. John couldn't tell for sure from inside the cab, but whoever it was seemed to be shivering.

"So there is. Another one of your homeless agents?"

"No. And it should be obvious to you John, they're not homeless." At John's look of utter confusion, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They may be dirty but that coat is of brand new design, just came out this month, very expensive. The soles of their trainers are worn down but the shoes themselves were bought relatively recently. They're shivering, meaning that want to be here. It's too cold for them to have simply happened upon our doorstep, they would have chosen somewhere warmer. This person obviously wants to speak to us, John. Why don't we go introduce ourselves?" The curly haired detective smirked and stepped out the cab and on to the pavement. John paid the fare and approached the person in question. He expected somewhat to discover some old man wanting to find his dog from "the good old days" or something of the like, but when the doctor pulled open the coat, he was thoroughly surprised.

"Sherlock, we need to get her inside."

"Ah, yes. Of course it's a her. The pink of her socks sticking slightly out of her trainers should have been a dead giveaway, but these days, everyone wears a bit of pink. Couldn't be sure."

"Sherlock. I'm serious. Open the door for me will you? And ask Mrs. Hudson to bring her warmest blanket." John had, by this time, scooped the shivering thing into his arms and was carrying her inside. He took her up the stairs and scooted a few newspapers off the couch with his foot before laying her down and rushing off to get the fire going in the chilly flat. The fire had just started to burn when Sherlock trailed up the stairs behind Mrs. Hudson, who was holding the biggest down-filled quilt he'd ever seen.

Mrs. Hudson watched John confoundedly as he took the massive thing from her. "What is going on, and why do you need—Oh!" She had noticed the occupant of the couch, and flitted over to help John tuck her in. When the two disappeared again, John had mentioned something about warm towels and Mrs. Hudson was muttering to herself about tea, Sherlock got his first good look at the anonymous visitor.

She was no more than seventeen or eighteen, with dark brown curly hair, a heart-shaped face, and a familiar Cupid's bow. She was also extremely pale and her lips were blue. That must have caused John's alarm outside. The girl needed to be warmed up, obviously, but Sherlock, knowing that John and Mrs. Hudson would take care of her, stood in the doorway cataloging data about their unexpected guest. While Mrs. Hudson wandered downstairs to make tea he studied her warily, not liking the baffling ideas forming in his mind, and so was the first to notice when she began to stir.

"John. She's moving."

"What?" The blond-haired man walked back in from the kitchen, carrying steaming washcloths in his hands. "I'm going to check her out for any lasting damage; it looks like hypothermia, but Sherlock, would you call an ambulance please? Just in case." The detective sighed and reached for his phone while the doctor placed the warmed towels under her arms and on her forehead. Sherlock was about to dial when a shaky voice gently pierced the worried silence of the flat.

"No. No ambulances. No hospitals. I can't risk it." The girl had not opened her eyes, but she began to attempt to sit up.

"Hush, now." John said while gently pushing her back down. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor but I'd feel better if we could get you checked in to a hospital. But for now, you need to rest."

"I'm fine with resting. Just, no hospitals. I can't risk him finding me." Her shivering had stopped by now, much to the doctor's relief. "I can't… risk… leading him right… to… me…" The growing warmth of the room was making her drowsy, but Sherlock was intrigued.

The tall man approached and bent over her, tilting his head and widening his ice blue eyes with anticipation.

"Who? Who can't find you?"

The girl, half-asleep by this point, pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and frowned.

"Uncle Moriarty."

**So um… tell me what you think please? I have more plans for this but I want to know if anyone will actually read it. Right now I honestly don't know how this is going to play out, but any relationship building *ahem*johnlock*ahem* would take time. I don't have the ability to just smash characters together when they aren't already together… do you get what I mean? So… at this point, there **_**may **_**be some **_**eventual **_**johnlock… but I honestly have no idea. Now, I just HAD to post this, but updates will be EXTREMELY sporadic for a while. I have graduation and AP hooplah for the next few weeks, but once summer starts things should even out quite a bit. Thanks for reading!**

***I am also not British, and don't have a Beta so any out of place phrases or grammatical errors are purely my fault. Sorry in advance.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Uncle Moriarty._

All of John's thought processes froze at those two words; Sherlock's mind, however, kicked into overdrive.

John's first response: "What?" There was a pause. "Sherlock, did she just say… Uncle… _Moriarty_?" He didn't receive an immediate response from his flat mate so he turned to make sure the taller man had heard him. "No… no you're making that face again. I _do not _know what is going on right now Sherlock!" John's voice had risen and the girl on their couch twitched in her half-sleep. John, ever polite, stood up and motioned Sherlock to the kitchen with a nod of his head. Doing his best to keep his voice down, he continued. "If you have any idea, any at all, about what is going on here please explain it to me because I am lost."

The doctor crossed his arms and leaned back against the refrigerator, deciding the chances of ending up covered in one of Sherlock's experiments if he leant against the counter were too high to risk. He cocked an eyebrow and looked at the detective expectantly. The dark haired man gave the tiniest sigh before he began to remove his gloves, coat, and scarf while talking.

"I currently have eight theories," a soft snore, more like a loud breath, reached their ears from the living room. "Seven." Hanging up his things he began to pace back and forth, talking animatedly with his hands. "She's young, late teens. Obviously knows who I am, and has gone to some pains trying to hide her identity from me. Somewhat successfully," he added with just the tiniest bit of respect. "I can tell almost nothing of importance from her appearance, but there is a slight, _very slight,_ band around the base of the middle finger on her right hand, a ring. I'm certain a high-school ring. Her accent tells me she was raised in the States; Texas, most likely, by the slight drawl. High-school rings are popular there. Her ring will most likely still be in one of the pockets of her coat." With this he turned abruptly from the path he was wearing into the floor of 221b and moved towards the sleeping girl.

"Sherlock!" The taller man simply glanced over his shoulder at John from where he was currently bent over the girl, unwrapping the blanket so he could go through her coat pockets. "Sherlock, you can't just… what if she wakes up and finds you…" he racked his brain for an appropriate word, "looming?" His flat mate gave the tiniest snort of derision.

"Please, John. The girl is obviously exhausted; she'll sleep for a few hours at the least. Aha!" He held up a ring in his slender grasp. John shook his head, but, honestly. Since when had Sherlock ever respected someone's personal space? He followed the taller man back into the kitchen where the light was bright enough for them to thoroughly inspect the ring.

The ring gave Sherlock much more data than the girl herself. The outside of the ring showed that it was cleaned regularly, so well taken care of; but the inside was smooth, so removed regularly as well, taken off before going to bed, perhaps? The year 2012 stood out on one side above an image of a theater, an actress (possibly professional, but the state of her nails—picked at and chipped—told him not likely) who had graduated earlier that year. The stone was pink, with a golden "A" engraved on top, and upon searching the name of the high school his theory of Texas was proven correct.

He tossed the ring up and caught it, performing this multiple times before snatching it almost violently from the air.

"This still doesn't tell me _who _she _is!_"

John looked thoughtfully at the ring before holding out his hand, wordlessly asking to give a second opinion. Sherlock laid the item in his palm and flopped—albeit gracefully—into his chair.

"Aha." At John's quiet remark Sherlock looked up. John had twisted the ring so he was looking at the inside, below the stone. "My cousin in the States had one of these. Had his name inscribed on the inside, I thought it couldn't hurt to take a look." He handed the ring back over and Sherlock rotated it so the light caught the words just right.

_Alexa H. Adler_

A.H.A.

"Aha indeed, John. Aha indeed."

**I'd just like to say thanks to the people who have favorited and subscribed so far! I'm supposed to be studying for multiple AP tests right now, but when faced with a computer I do this. So… no studying for me tonight! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, hearing back from you would be wonderful so please review! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Adler?" John was incredulous. _"Adler?" _He placed one hand on his hip and used the other to scratch the back of his head while looking about the room, as if Moriarty and The Woman were going to pop out of the wallpaper and tell him it was all a joke. "This can't be serious, Sherlock."

"Oh it's quite serious, John."

A tense silence continued until the girl, Alexa, gave another one of her almost-snores. John looked at her as one would look at a wounded puppy on the street, full of pity, before placing a mask of acceptance and caring on his life-lined face. The older man let out a deep sigh.

"Well, we can't just leave her to sleep there. I guess she can use my bed—"

"Impractical." Sherlock interrupted. At John's start of a refusal, he continued. "You were going to offer to sleep on the couch while she took your bed, but that would leave you with a sore back and neck, therefore leaving me with a damaged, aggravated blogger. I, however, was not planning on using my mattress any time soon; she can sleep there."

John hesitated a moment, looking for a protest he could make to his flatmate's words, but when none came he shut his mouth and gave a tight nod of his head.

"All right then." He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, ever the military man, before striding across the room and scooping the girl up into his arms. He carried her down the hall into Sherlock's room, depositing her on the bed and tucking her in, blanket cocoon and all. He didn't miss the irony of the situation, remembering the day quite a while back when he and Sherlock had found a far different Adler in the consulting detective's bed.

John's eyebrows traveled upwards in his classic _we-got-ourselves-into-something-big-but-I-don't-know-exactly-how-big _expression, and Sherlock remained down the hall in the living room, tuning his violin. The ex-army doctor then went to bed, and the last question (of many running through his mind) before falling into unconsciousness was what the H stood for.

I could smell him, all around me. _In his bed. _I creaked my eyes open and took in what I could of the room in my sleep muddled state. _Door closed, they trust me not to run off. Periodic table on the wall, paired with smell I'm in his room, not Uncle John's. _I glance toward the desk,_ organized chaos, definitely his room. _I stretched out, thankful that I had been placed in his room. I crawled out of the (surprisingly comfortable) bed, padding to the bathroom just outside his door. _Shoes removed, most likely Uncle John, must thank him. Judging by the slant of the sun through the blinds it's about nine in the morning. _I made use of his hairbrush, obviously his by the dark, curly hairs weaved throughout it, untangling the knots that had formed since I left Uncle Moriarty's. A familiar glass bottle on the countertop caught my eye, reminding me that I should get myself another charm, but this is him I'm talking about, he won't just let me take one of his pillows without any logic behind it. I really don't want to go through my reasons for needing the charm with the two of them, but that discussion is, obviously, inevitable. I find a spare toothbrush in the second left-hand drawer and give my teeth a quick scrub. I vaguely remember getting too warm and discarding my jacket and the spare blanket on to the floor sometime during the night.

_Sounds coming from the kitchen. _I listened more intently. _Cabinet doors opening and closing. Cups being set down. Liquid being poured. _Uncle John must be making tea. I returned to the room I had woken up in and made the bed quickly and efficiently, picking up my jacket and hanging it on the back of the door. Once everything was in order I made my way down the hall to the living room where, undoubtedly, a multitude of questions awaited me.

John could hear the sound of someone brushing their teeth down the hall, and seeing as how Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in his armchair in his "thinking pose" he figured that their guest, Alexa, must be awake. He set to making her a cup of tea, knowing that the familiar motions would keep him from assaulting the poor girl with questions when she eventually emerged from Sherlock's room.

One moment, John was glancing at the hall entryway, waiting for her to appear, and the next she was beside him, watching quietly. If he hadn't been so accustomed to Sherlock appearing silently over his shoulder he would have jumped.

"Well, um. Hello." He began, not wanting to interrogate her immediately. He was, after all, a doctor, and needed to make sure his patient had recovered. "How are you feeling this morning?" He glanced at her again and noticed her eyes, a shockingly familiar shade of gray mixed with ice blue.

"Much better, thank you." She replied, voice ringing with gratitude. He offered her the cup of tea and she took it with a nod, sipping it delicately. "This is wonderful, thanks." She gave him a small smile, one that told him she knew she wasn't off the hook for her mysterious arrival just yet.

John patted his side awkwardly and motioned towards the room Sherlock occupied, a silent invitation to sit and talk. Alexa shuffled into the room and sat on the floor at Sherlock's left, between the two armchairs and the coffee table.

"I can get you a chair, if you like." He offered.

"No, thank you. I'm just fine right here." The girl said between sips. John sat down and tried to get the consulting detective's attention.

"Sherlock, Sherlock!" The taller man sighed and brought his steepled hands down to lay in his lap.

"Yes, John?" The older man widened his eyes and flicked them down towards Alexa, who sat looking down into her tea. Taking the unspoken order to start this little show, he slid his eyes down onto the girl and began gathering information.

She was staring into her tea, hair falling down over right shoulder creating a curtain hiding her face from view, so trying to keep a secret about identity, useless at this point unless her father is obvious in her face. No obvious physical signs of nervousness, but without pulse rate and a line of sight to the eyes nothing is certain.

"We know who you are, Miss Adler." The dark-haired genius stated.

"You have my name," she replied smoothly, calmly. "Trust me when I say you do not know _who _I am." She took another sip from her tea.

"Enlighten us then." His voice was smug with the sound of a proffered challenge.

_Here we go. _

"As you wish." A glance at Uncle John, continuing to keep my face from _**his **_view. _Bags under eyes, but eyes aren't bloodshot. _"You recently worked a case, Unc- Dr. Watson. Last night was the first decent sleep you've had in three, no, four days. My apologies for keeping you up late." _Multiple nicks from a razor. _"You really should replace your razor, it's a bit rusty at this point." _Shoes on, dressed casually. Empty mug by the sink. _"You're going out, not to work, not on a date. Most likely a milk run as you didn't put any in your tea, obvious by the color of the residue, the same as mine and my mug is definitely lacking in milk." _Eyebrows furrowed, upset. _"But don't be upset it is still a wonderful cup of tea." _Give small smile to reassure. Sniff lightly. Smell gas and burnt hair. _"A Bunsen burner was recently used, on a sample of hair. Hair was coated in thin layer of-" _sniff again, _"household bleach before being burned." _Think back to the kitchen. _"Small hairs on inside and outside of window-sill above sink andobvious evidence of milk droplets, someone has been feeding a stray cat. Obviously a stray since the rest of the room is hair-free." _Uncle John looks guilty. _"Dr. Watson, judging by your guilty expression I believe you are the culprit." _He's throwing apologetic looks at man opposite. _"You also did not tell your partner about this, and I'm guessing that you frequently blame the lack of milk on him, where instead you are at fault. I would apologize if I were in your place." _That should be adequate enough._

Sherlock snorted in derision. John had worn a look of awe until the bit about the cat. Alexa still had not looked up from her mug of tea.

"So your mother trained you in my ways, another bit of—"here the consulting detective paused for disgust, "pathetic sentiment obviously aimed to gain my favor."

"That is where you are incorrect." The girl on the floor stated. "I was not trained by my mother. I solved the process of deduction on my own." A few moments of silence passed. "I was a hidden child, a withdrawal, and each summer my mother had me shipped from America to spend a few discreet months with her and…" here she shivered involuntarily to John's concern and Sherlock's interest, "Uncle Moriarty. Each fall I was returned to my hiding place so that I was no longer underfoot."

John asked quietly, "What do you mean, you were a withdrawal?"

She raised her eyes to the army doctor's, and he was again struck by how similar they were to the eyes of the man sitting across from him. Then she turned so Sherlock could finally see her face and spoke directly to the high-functioning sociopath.

"I'm sure you can tell him."

Sherlock locked eyes with the girl sitting on his floor, and all the clues suddenly clicked into place. Only one question remained to be asked.

"Who is your father?"

The girl gave a small smile, knowing he knew, but was asking because it seemed so impossible of an answer.

"You are." She answered sweetly. "Congratulations, it's a girl."

**Alright! So! A major plot point down! I never said, but this story takes place during The Great Game, kind of an AU but it's going to follow the major plot points of the episode. From here on out I am determined to **_**eventually **_**make this have some sort of Johnlock fluffiness so I'm warning you guys now. In the next chapter there will be hinting at sexual abuse of a child and abortion, please note that **_**any**_** views expressed about **_**anything **_**in this story are not indicative of my personal views. If anyone is wondering about the H in Alexa's name, or the charm she mentions when she is in the bathroom, have no fear, both of those questions will be answered in the next chapter. Please review and tell me what you think so far! I highly enjoy constructive criticism. Honestly, I'll take flames because input is input, and I'll take anything. Thanks for reading and look forward to the next chapter! (Unless you hate it in which case I'm sorry.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I made a HUGE mistake, and told you guys that this story takes place during The Great Game, but it actually takes place during The Reichenbach Fall. Sorry for any confusion!**

John could only gape at the man sitting across from him, a jumbled mess of thoughts buzzing around his head. Finally, they became coherent enough for him to pick out the most pressing question: _How is that even possible?_

"Sherlock?" John began, cautiously. "How can she possibly be your daughter, Sherlock?" When he was ignored he turned to ask Alexa, but she was still staring defiantly at the man she claimed to be her father.

Meanwhile, Sherlock's eyes twitched wildly as he pieced together data in his mind palace. He dredged up an old case he had almost deleted many times, but always filed away with other moments he considered "learning experiences."

He had been young, fifteen, when he solved a case involving several abductions from a sperm bank center. He did the only thing he could do at the time—seeing as how he was not yet needed by a Lestrade who was not yet a Detective Inspector—and went in himself, hoping to be abducted by the same group—obviously not just one person—who had taken the others. To his disappointment, he was not taken and ended up donating to said sperm bank (he may be a sociopath, but even he knew that suspicions would be raised if he were to leave them empty-handed). He never dreamt that his sperm would actually produce _offspring _let alone the daughter of _The Woman. _He thought over her words again.

"Ah," he breathed smirking. "I get it now. You're a withdrawal, very clever." His voice held barely concealed sarcasm. "I am going to need proof, of course."

"Of course." She allowed. "Everything is in my coat; I'll go get it now." She left her now empty mug in the sink before disappearing down the hallway.

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "So, she's your daughter. Fine. What is she doing here?"

"I am pleased to say that I am not certain," the consulting detective stated with a familiar puzzle-solving gleam in his eye. "It is obvious, however, that Moriarty did not send her. I am personally looking forward to hearing more about her summers, they promise to be surprising. She should also to be able to tell us where Moriarty is, I haven't heard from him since after the trial."

John sighed and shook his head. "She isn't a case, Sherlock. Or a honing beacon for that madman's location."

"I'm sorry to say that I do not, in fact, know where my uncle is." Alexa said as she resumed her space on the floor. "But if I did I would gladly let you know. Here you are," she said, holding a manila envelope out to her father. "All the paperwork proving I'm yours." Sherlock leafed through the papers, eyes methodically scanning for all pertinent information. "After that particular case Uncle Moriarty pulled a few of his already vast and convoluted network of strings and took control of your particular account with that establishment. Mother was seventeen at the time and beginning her… business. Uncle Jim" (both men listening noticed the change, but both decided to not address it at this point) "approached her and made her an offer. She was keeping tabs on you as well, not as thorough as his, of course, but enough to have become quite fond of you. She agreed. A few weeks later I was conceived on the first try in a petri dish and implanted into a surrogate who was blackmailed by Uncle Jim. After I was born I was immediately sent to live with two perfectly acceptable people in the U.S.; they were also blackmailed to take part in raising me, but they still treated me as one of their own. Needless to say, the summers I spent here were less than pleasant in comparison to the rest of my year."

"Then go back to them, you aren't wanted here." Sherlock's voice cut in during the brief moment where Alexa had stopped to take a breath and let her story sink in. John coughed slightly, mouthing _a bit not good _when his flatmate threw him glance.

"Believe me, I would." She paused. "If Uncle Jim hadn't burned their house to the ground with them and their children inside."

Sherlock re-steepled his hands together. "So, Uncle Jim carts you off to America, he burns the people you care about, and finally makes him live with you where he turns your life into a living hell."

"How could you possibly know that he made her miserable, Sherlock?" John questioned.

"One, she's here. Two, really John? Moriarty. Making people miserable is one of his greater joys. Plus the fact that she's favoring her left side, suggesting bruised ribs, there are a number of bruises visible just below the collar of her shirt and along the back of her neck, the disgust that seeped into her voice every time she said his name, and the not-so-slight tremor that occurred the first time she spoke of her summers with Moriarty. _Observe _John! Don't just _see_!"

John glanced back over to Alexa with a troubled expression. "Are you hurt?" She stayed silent and refused to look the war veteran in the eyes. John would know that look anywhere, it's the same one Sherlock wore when he didn't want John worrying about him. The older man chuckled softly. "Just like your father, then. Well, come on. Let's take a look at those bruises and see if we can't do anything about those ribs." His voice was gentler now, calming. Dr. Watson was on duty. "You know, I'm going to have to ask what happened to you."

Alexa's shaky breath was the only cue he needed to know that he was nearing unwanted territory. He gave her a small smile. "Perhaps later, then."

John had looked her over, doing what he could to ease the pain she was in. By now it was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to sink over London. Mrs. Hudson had brought up a platter of sandwiches around lunchtime, neither Alexa nor Sherlock had touched the food placed in front of them until John had threatened to feed them by hand. After that they ate, slowly and grudgingly, but they ate. Alexa had then retreated back into Sherlock's room, and the flat was quiet. Sherlock didn't speak. He paced back and forth for a bit, sat down in his chair and cleaned his violin, retreated into his mind palace for a few hours, and eventually curled up into a ball of tailored clothes and messy curls on the sofa. John could only imagine that Alexa was biding her time until he got the truth from her about her injuries. He would let her come to him though, after his time around Sherlock and Mycroft he knew that the Holmes boys would never talk about themselves if pushed, but when they were ready, _blimey _did they _talk. _A particularly enlightening meeting with Mycroft came to his mind, and John had to stifle a chuckle at the thought of a tiny Sherlock running around with an eye patch and a sword.

At the noise, Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his flatmate, and John couldn't help but laugh at the look on the younger man's face. Somehow Sherlock had managed to glare at him with curiosity, but also in an I-know-what-you're-laughing-about-and-it-stops-now type way. The amused doctor held up his hands in a sign of peace. "Sorry, don't mind me." Sherlock huffed and resettled himself back into the couch. Not long after, Alexa shuffled her way into the living room, one of Sherlock's pillows clutched to her chest.

"What have you got that for?" John asked.

"It's my charm of protection, you could say." She nearly whispered.

"We're not going to hurt you."

"And a pillow does very little for protection." Sherlock chimed in.

"Not physical protection, Dad. Mental." Sherlock huffed again, but—much to John's surprise—said nothing about Alexa's term of address.

"So Dr. Watson, you had wanted to know what happened to me." She then claimed what John would forever deem _her spot _on the floor.

"John, please. And yes, I would like it if you told me."

There were a few moments of tense silence, John could tell that Sherlock was listening intently despite having his back turned, and then their guest began to tell her story.

"The first time I met Uncle Jim I was seven years old. I already knew at this point that my parents weren't my biological family, and when the letter from Mother came in the mail asking that I spend the summer over here I went willingly. A driver met me at the airport and escorted me to a remote estate a few hours away. I was blindfolded each and every time I approached or left, and the driver always took different routes, so finding it on my own would be near impossible. Uncle's quite the actor as you've realized, and left me with a first impression that was entirely wrong. He and Mother spent that first week earning my trust, doing things I wanted to do, taking me on trips to secluded places of wonder. After that first week though, Mother left me alone with him. Trusting him was a horrible idea.

"The rest of that visit was uneventful, but the next summer, there was this… gleam in his eye. As if, he had plans for me. I spent most of that visit in training. Learning how to fight as well as a soldier, he said it was for self-defense. As I left at the end of that summer—Mother never even came to see me—he gave me a tiny peck on the cheek. I won't lie, at the time I was happy that he cared for me. But, he didn't truly care.

"I had just turned nine, and once again the time came for me to make my pilgrimage. Mother was there this time, and she told me about my father." Alexa looked to Sherlock, who had by this time shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch with his hands steepled to this chin. "She said you were incredibly smart, could figure out things no one else could. I had figured out a few years earlier how to deduce people, but was always told to watch my tongue. When I told Mother and Uncle that I could do what you could, they laughed at first. So I started deducing everything I saw. Eventually they realized how… beneficial I could be. After that, they watched me intensely. The only time they left me alone was while I was learning to play piano. I was horrible at first, and they couldn't stand to listen, so I would practice for hours at a time just to get some solitude. One rainy night I had a nightmare, and while getting a glass of milk I overheard them talking. Uncle said something to Mother about wishing _he _had been the one to have the child of Sherlock Holmes. Mother laughed and 'Don't you see, dear? Now you can have our grandchild.'

"At the time, I didn't understand, but now I know. That conversation was the beginning of the end for me. The next few visits were dull in comparison to the ones to come. The real nightmare started during the summer I turned thirteen."

A long silence passed. Alexa's whole body was shaking, and she breathed deeply in and out of the pillow she had brought from Sherlock's room. Still trembling, she continued.

"That was the first time h—he... took me. I was drugged and delirious for most of it, but I knew what was going on. It was violent and messy and _painful _and I used up everything I could in fighting back, but I was so much weaker than he was. I screamed for Mother, Mom, Dad, _anyone _to save me. But he just laughed and seemed to enjoy himself more when I screamed. I'd had my first menstrual cycle earlier that year, and knew that pregnancy was a possibility. After a few more times it wasn't just a possibility any more, it was a reality."

John sucked in a harsh breath, and Sherlock's eyes went wide.

"You mean… you were…?" John let his question trail off. Alexa nodded, her eyes blank of emotion as she hugged the pillow tighter to her chest.

"The first time it happened I miscarried about two months in. Uncle was devastated. But he tried again, and again I could do nothing to stop it. I went home, fourteen and pregnant for the second time. It was in September of that year that I met Uncle Mycroft."

"Wait—" John interrupted. "You know who Mycroft is? And he knew you existed?" John turned to Sherlock. "And he never told you?"

Sherlock sighed, but Alexa could detect a bit of fondness in that tiny exhalation of breath. "Of course he knew about her, John. He is the British Government after all. And, no, to answer your last question. He never mentioned her." The detective signaled to Alexa to continue.

"He introduced himself as my Uncle on my Dad's side, I called him My-My. He asked if I wanted to keep the fetus, I denied vehemently. He arranged for an abortion. It wasn't the last time he had to. The next summer was when the beatings started. Uncle couldn't stop My-My from helping me, so he took his frustration out on me and anyone else who happened to piss him off. I was hospitalized seven times that summer, four the next. And each time I went home, my first stop was a private clinic My-My owned." She turned dead eyes to Sherlock. "You should be a grandfather of five right now."

Another long silence passed, and John was the one to break it.

"So, Alexa, we um… _found _your ring… just curious but, what does the H in your name stand for?" The girl's eyes brightened up a tiny bit as she turned her gaze on John.

"Mother did like you, in her own way." She stated. "The H stands for Hamish. Last year she had my name legally changed after meeting you. She said you had suggested it as a joke, but she liked the idea. Sometimes she would call me Jamie, when we were alone." John could only sit there in shock. "This past year she would stop in to see me at home. Brought me back a bottle of cologne she swiped off Dad's counter and gave it to me as an early graduation present. I had nightmares constantly, and she told me how relaxing it was, sleeping in a place that smelled like Dad. I started spraying a pillow of mine with it after each nightmare, until the smell had completely saturated it. That pillow was my charm, it kept the nightmares away. But I had to leave it at Uncle's, and I didn't know how well I would sleep without it. That's why I'm thankful that you both decided to have me sleep in Dad's room." She looked at John. "Thank you for taking my shoes off, by the way."

"I didn't take your shoes off… Sherlock?" The Doctor and the girl both turned to look at the Detective.

Said Detective huffed and fidgeted, readjusting his position on the couch. "I didn't want her getting my sheets dirty." The statement lacked his usual regality, and everyone present saw it for the hidden bit of caring that it was. Alexa simply smiled and thanked her father. After a bit of thought, John finally understood Moriarty's words back at the swimming pool. _Daddy's had enough now. _He had thought he was going to be a father.

"So," Sherlock began, strumming his fingers together. "What happened recently?"

"Ah, yes. The final problem." Sherlock froze instantly at her use of Moriarty's words from after the trial. "Since I'm eighteen, he can no longer keep me under his guardianship, but he refuses to let me go. He's trying to get me to marry him."

**Whew! Well, here's an extra-long chapter guys! It's been a while, but I couldn't find a way to get this chapter to flow for the longest time. Then two days ago, WHAM! Suddenly I can't stop typing and end up with something that was like, eight pages. But after reading through it I ended up cutting it down to five. Some of the stuff that spouted out just didn't make sense. The whole thing was kind of stream-of-consciousness, I had to make it readable. Anyway, I don't know when the next chapter will be up… but there is another one coming! Thanks for reading and please review!**


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